Dust to Dust
by Valerie Phoenixfire
Summary: In the end, we are all at the mercy of death. To the most hard-hearted, it can bring release. An AU fic regarding an alternate ending for Jihl Nabaat.


_Author's Note: This is a story based off of a dream I had, and it is rather AU (basically because Jihl dies in a different way and under far different circumstances). I was always a sympathizer to her due to her status as a very broken person, and I thought it might be interesting to explore the psychopomp idea with the other character here. Obviously Jihl and all places/objects mentioned are property of Square.  
_

**Dust to Dust  
**

The sky was erupting over Bodhum. Reds, oranges, and even an occasional splash of blue entered the heated air. On this night, however, the blasts of light were not fireworks. The joyful tradition was replaced by a jarring mess of bombs, rockets, and an entire arsenal of heavy artillery.

PSICOM's war with the civilian armies had finally reached the normally peaceful town, and as the elite military force had hoped, its technological advantage was working for it. The officers, when not faced with an attempted assault from the screaming working class, found the time to grab a cruiser and survey the spoils of their holy war: hundreds dead and in the streets, petty ships armed with inferior cannons burning by the wayside, and a select few that gave up and, curled up among debris, begged for their lives. Their requests were met with silence and smiles before their lives were torn away from them with several gunshots.

It was clear that PSICOM maintained its stronghold on the town, and judging from the hell it had created for even the most innocent of the citizens, opposition meant certain death.

One cruiser kept its distance away from the battleground, as if it took great pride in observing the rebellion's tiny gunships being plucked from the sky with missiles. Several officers stood together to watch, hands clasped behind their backs, their faces adorned with nothing more than affirmation. They were going to win this one, just as they had ripped apart every prior rebellion. The Primarch would be proud.

One of the officers smirked as the riders of a velocycle high above the lake attempted to shoot down a far swifter PSICOM battle cruiser. Their screams didn't have time to leave their throats as their vehicle was smashed by the lowest grade weapon possible.

"Idiots," remarked the officer. "It was bad enough with the l'Cie trying to save themselves. Now with everyone flowing to their side, it seems we'll be the only sane ones left."

Another turned to him, barely nodding. "They'll figure it out soon enough. They're losing terribly, anyway; it's only a matter of time."

The small control room was filled with chuckles and further notes about PSICOM's assured victory over the deranged public. Over time, the cruiser meandered around the scene, its lights dim to ward off detection. This was standard protocol; the highest ranked personnel always maintained a safe distance, being able to direct troops over intercom if necessary. One exception that everyone had to make was Lt. Col. Rosch, who had a dangerous tendency to jump right into battle with his battalions. His scar was a marker of this exact audacity. Even he, however, betrayed his own actions this time; there was far more direct firepower during this attack, and so troops were not used as much due to the sheer amounts of debris that would be created from bomb blasts.

Everyone's eyes widened as a rocket slammed into the side of a gorge where some hideouts were discovered. The plumes of smoke choked the air further, bending the fire's light and defining the scene as an apocalypse in the making. Once more, the officers beamed.

But war was war, and all was fair.

"Major! Major, one of our ships is in trouble!"

"What? Which one?"

"Colonel Nabaat's cruiser! They're sending out distress signals..."

"Where are they?!"

"By the gorge! Right on the outskirts... I think they're crashing...!"

--------

The lieutenant colonel's fascination with the l'Cie had brought her far closer to the war zone than was expected from someone of her rank, and she was not a Rosch by any means. She was always on the sidelines, and being the highest ranked officer in PSICOM, her ship was the last anyone would comprehend plummeting towards the ground as their war raged on. But there it was, its gleaming white hull expelling flames like an injured dove releasing blood. The other ranked officers scrambled, panicking, for answers, and all intelligence pointed to her having found some l'Cie in that exact hideout. She attempted a surprise ambush with her cruiser, but its stealthy nature had become its own downfall. Its crew never saw the rocket coming as it slammed into the gorge and created an avalanche of stones to smash into the ship's engines and cockpit.

--------

All dead except for one.

Lt. Col. Jihl Nabaat clutched her side, feeling the sickening realization of a growing bloodstain. Her glasses no longer helped her blurry vision as she tried to force herself away from the smoldering vessel nearby; after all, her being seen by any rebels would surely mean an even faster death. She stopped for a moment and turned around. The fire was probably a hundred feet high or more, and it lit up everything around her. She had to accept that this wasn't too different from staring at her fireplace, and, perhaps due to the constant blood loss, that same sense of peace saturated her. Shaking her head, she walked on, figuring that she should find a quieter, darker place to spend her last few minutes.

There it was. Perfect. A shack, half-burned to the ground, but still with fragmented pieces of roof on it. It was surrounded by trees that were not charred, and so there was some degree of shelter. Jihl paused to catch her breath, and then continued on. What seemed like hours was only a minute or two, and she finally stumbled inside the building.

She grew dizzy. After a few seconds, her legs could no longer support her, and she just barely caught herself on the leftovers of a table before finding a place to lie down. She noticed that lying right on the bleeding side diminished the pain, and so she stayed in her spot, facing the entryway.

Despite her thoughts clouding each other, Jihl noticed how many more of them she had right then and there. Granted, the situation was obvious; she was injured and far from any sort of help. The civilian forces were surely hunting the higher-ups in PSICOM, and she'd be the top prize. The head commander of the most powerful military units on Cocoon, the ones responsible for this war, would certainly have her dead body paraded through town.

Jihl shut her eyes. Shock had crept up on her as she took her first steps out of her craft's blazing hull, but it overwhelmed her now. Her communicator was out of reach, probably lost somewhere in the crash landing area. She shivered violently from an onset of chills. Fear choked whatever calm she had felt moments ago. Was this the first of the throes of death? She whimpered, gritting her teeth as she tried to shift positions to circumvent the pain.

There was no point in trying to escape. Her destiny was here, and though Jihl was horrified at the prospect of dying in such a crippling and dishonorable way, she had to accept it. Whimpering again as the throbbing stabs at her side deepened, she clenched her fists tightly, her gloves drenched in sweat. This was it. She could feel it washing over her; waves of heat and calm and fear and everything that she had known her whole life, and yet not known until just now. Her glasses fogged up from her hot breath and the thickness of the burning air.

This was it. She felt her head swim as it was blanketed with crackles of her remaining visions, and she watched as darkness seeped in from the corners of her eyes. Green eyes closing further with each of her exhausted mind's thoughts leaving her, she attempted to welcome her miserable reality gently. Courage, however, escaped her. She was scared.

_Forgive me, Primarch; I have failed._

---------

"H-hello...?"

The tiny voice brought a glimmer of noise to the otherwise starkly silent shack. Its source peeked through the doorway, standing there and hesitating before daring to take a step inside.

"... hello?"

By some force beyond her, Jihl managed to open her eyes and stare at the girl, no older than ten, that had entered the shack. Groaning in deep discomfort, the officer was more than upset to find out that she had been discovered. Hopefully by no one else, at least. Her eyes, glazed over, were locked onto the girl, and though she tried, she couldn't find the breath to make a response.

Amazingly, the girl smiled and approached her before crouching in front of her fallen frame.

"Hey... you're alive..."

Jihl coughed, repulsed slightly by the blood that she felt on her lip. The girl's powers of observation were astounding.

"I know you're one of them. You know..."

The child laid a hand on Jihl's visible pauldron, her fingers trailing along its electric blue glow.

"... one of the military. The ones hurting everyone."

Jihl snorted softly, wishing death would come sooner than before. Sensitivity seemed to have lessened for her; she couldn't even feel the touches to the clothing covering her shoulders. She didn't want any of this at all, however; no other people, no touch, no speaking. Her eyes shut. She wanted the end to come.

Silence ruled, and then the child spoke again, her tone softer.

"But you know what?"

She rested her hand on Jihl's arm, delicate fingers touching delicate leather.

"I'm alone now. Or... I can't find anyone I know... and... and you probably can't hear me anymore, but I..."

Jihl heard, however. Her eyes barely slid back open.

"... I don't wanna be alone, and I know you don't wanna be alone, either..."

It was that statement that gave the older woman the strength to formulate a reply. Her throat worked hard; her lungs even harder, but she could only squeak out a soft whine of a sentence.

"Leave me..."

The girl shook her head.

"I don't want to... see, I'm... I'm scared, too."

In the distance, bombs blasted more targets, and screams shattered the night as they have done for hours. Gunshots tore through the air, some seemingly closer than others. To Jihl, everything echoed like drums in her ears. She could no longer speak, but her eyes stayed fixated upon her uninvited visitor, who could only keep talking.

"... I know you're supposed to be brave, but you're scared."

Jihl twitched once. She twitched again, and that was when her face clenched, her eyes especially, and the tears finally flowed. Of course she was scared. She didn't need some child to remind her. Her entire life was drenched by hidden fears, and this time, her biggest fear was looming over her. Death was right there, hovering over her, a beautiful figure ready to take her away. Right here in the prime of her life, right here as the l'Cie were to be destroyed. Right as the rebellions would be massacred. She was to die among them.

At her first tear, the girl draped herself over the dying woman, her arm sliding around to grip at the back of her hair. She shut her eyes at about the same time Jihl did, though the latter did because she could no longer keep them open. Her hand coasting through Jihl's mess of tattered hair, the child cracked her eyes open once more to quietly observe her.

For just those few moments, the explosions outside were ignored. Distant yelling, already drowned out by the thunderous booms of weaponry, became a haze to the two figures in the tiny building. As her focus lingered on the fallen officer, so weak and harmless beneath her tiny form, the girl pressed her cheek to Jihl's pauldron. She sensed her breathing; it was slow and remarkably steady for someone struck by such fear. Perhaps she could no longer feel any fear. Glancing down at her glistening eyes, which found themselves open again but not staring back, the girl considered the thought more seriously. As her other hand reached up to slide along the metal surrounding Jihl's frilly collar, she recalled how those she had known died. They were all like this during their last moments; drifting between terror and relaxation, crying before doing seemingly nothing and then crying again, and their bodies... that was the part she remembered most. She pulled aside the collar and touched her neck, shuddering at the result. It was nothing she didn't expect, but it was still unpleasant.

"You're so cold..."

Jihl could only emit a whine, her eyes sliding shut yet again. Her skin was cool and soaked with sweat, and the girl noticed its gradual pallor. This woman had hair no duller than gold; her skin had to have been lovely, too, at some point. Her companion trailed her tiny fingers to dig at the underside of the pauldron her face currently rested on. That was where she found heat; the only place, it seemed.

Outside, a tree fell, its bark having been ignited by remnants of a missile yet again headed for gorge. The child gasped; the adult didn't react. The sudden addition of fire a good deal closer to the shack didn't hesitate to make things more unnerving.

"H-Hey... um... I hope more trees don't fall..."

Jihl's eyes stayed shut. No response.

"But I'm not leaving you..."

The girl hoped Jihl could still hear her, at least. She pressed closer to her, her hand finally daring to graze the officer's face. Her skin was cool but soft, and she trailed her hand to her eyebrows. They were finely trimmed and like the rest of her face, rather immaculate. Maybe, if it were not for the blood on her lip, this is what she would look like if she were sleeping.

Jihl kept silent for many more seconds before allowing a half-hearted whimper to leave her throat. She could no longer feel, smell, or taste anything; though the last was a godsend due to the presence of blood in her mouth. With all the strength she could muster, she opened her eyes and noticed that her vision was reduced to mostly darkness. Blurs and darkness. There was no point in trying to see.

She was numb. All that was left was the vague pressure of someone on her side and the echoing murmurs of that same person's voice. She no longer cared who this girl was, or why she had truly come. Loneliness was a strange reason to seek out the dying. The thought drifted within the planes of her mind before dissipating; she couldn't adhere to ideas or questions for more than a second. The heat was too much, or was it the cold now? So much blood was lost that it _had_ to be real... or was she just imagining things now?

There was no movement; her body was shut off. Jihl was cloaked in darkness in every way possible, and the one speck of light was this girl. Her voice kept her thoughts alive; it allowed her ears to take in things besides the rage of war outside her sanctuary.

Then, it hit her once more. Just as the vision of Death gripped her mind in the most alluring way she had seen yet, she felt the need to escape.

She couldn't breathe.

The girl lifted her head from Jihl's shoulder and stared down at her, her eyes widening at the all too familiar sight.

"Hey! Don't breathe like that... it'll make it hurt! It's not supposed to hurt when you die!"

Her calls were unheeded, as Jihl just kept hyperventilating. Her companion felt her own tears well up as she wrapped both arms around the woman's neck, getting close to her ear so that she could still hear.

"Come on... calm down... you'll just get more scared..."

The girl's voice was still apparent to Jihl, but it was quickly replaced by rushing, as if a flood had reached her ears. This must have been the next step; Death only hovered closer.

The tiny hand now rested just below Jihl's neck, pressing into the transparent fabric.

"All this stuff... I bet it makes it harder to breathe... but don't worry; it won't be long now."

She could feel her pulse, which was quick and weak.

Death reached for her, a silken hand stroking her face.

The girl watched.

Jihl's breathing catastrophically dropped to where it was before, and then slower. A tender hand felt her heartbeat; it was miniscule. Her skin was chilled, the sweat streaming off of it with none being created.

"There you go... it's over now."

The girl brushed some hair aside and then whispered into Jihl's ear.

"I know you hate Pulse... but it's a beautiful place to live."

_Live_.The word repeated itself in Jihl's mind as every other thought diminished and then vanished. There was no pain now, there was no fear; she could be released. As the child idly stroked her hair, she exhaled and had no will to inhale again. Darkness became her, and it was with darkness that she left.

The sounds outside had grown more distant, as if just for them. The girl lifted herself up from her spot on Jihl's multi-layered clothing, rubbing out the imprints caused by it. Quietly, she stared at the woman before her. There was peace in her stillness, as there always was with deaths like this.

She stood up and turned to leave, but not before glancing back just once. Jihl's glasses reflected embers from the doorway. The girl sighed, wiping her eyes. Maybe in the midst of all this, there were others like her.

--------

The sky seemed much darker, and the smoke had dwindled.

A lone figure sat on top of a hill, arms crossed over her knees as a breeze brushed her hair from its place on her shoulders. She surveyed the red horizon where the war seemed to have migrated. _They reached Palompolum, _she concluded. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the glimmer of a few camps that survivors had set up. Those would surely be in her best interest, but not just yet.

The stars were out, and she could just barely see the edge of Pulse's outline in the atmosphere.

She got up and headed down the hill.

Despite it all, she, too, was at peace.


End file.
